


Game of Survival

by KTfromTHEstix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTfromTHEstix/pseuds/KTfromTHEstix
Summary: One shot of the violent and angsty variety. Canon Divergence.Two years after Sodden, Geralt finds himself back in Blaviken and again dealing with the town's resident sorcerer - the last place he wants to be.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 20
Kudos: 92





	Game of Survival

**Author's Note:**

> AN: “Game of Survival”, an awesome song by Ruelle. Came across it in Hajnalka’s Youtube edit of our pair and haven’t been able to shake it since! Paired with a random pinterest quote I saw and loved. I don’t own either, nor anything Witcher-y. ALLL the angst that no one asked for. Whoops.  
> Disclaimer, I've only seen S1 of the TV show so be patient with me. Thanks!

  
“The only way to truly hurt a man is to take away everything that

he values and remind him of it everyday. By doing this,

you will also create a monster, and you will regret ever

harming that man because he will become your greatest horror.”

Sunlight crept through the narrow window and warmed his bloody face. He groaned, whatever he was laying on was hard and damp. He cracked one eye open, expecting to see the tables and chairs of a tavern. Maybe he’d gotten in a fight? Passed out drunk? He couldn’t remember _shit_ from the prior night.

Instead, a dark room, stone walls, dirt floors and steel bars. He propped himself up on his arm, not the first time he’d woken up in a cell, and probably not the last. His head was killing him. A quick check of his forehead revealed a gash near his hairline, which explained his bloody face and neck.

 _Ciri_. He sat up abruptly and his vision blurred _. Too fast_. She wasn’t with him. There were three other empty cells, one adjacent his, and another pair across a narrow isle. Each had one skinny, lancet shaped window but were otherwise empty. He stood, and tried to peer down either end of the isle-way. A stone staircase curved up on the left, and a heavy wooden door filled the opposite side.

 _What the hell had happened_? He and Ciri had been traveling south through Redania, headed to fulfill a contract outside of Tretogor. A wraith wasn’t the nastiest of foes, and Ciri had been doing well. She was a sharp girl, and a quick study. Two years had passed since he found her outside of Sodden, and she was becoming efficient with potions and rudimentary combat.

The thick wooden door to his right rumbled open, and a hulking beast of a man entered, Ciri’s limp form thrown over his shoulder. He set her down in the cell adjacent Geralt’s, with a none too delicate thump.She appeared to be uninjured though, he thanked the gods for small favors. The large man turned to lock the cell door behind him, and Geralt could make out the snarl on his scarred face. He was filthy, and clearly not in charge of whatever shit show they’d gotten tangled in.

Footsteps sounded from the opposite staircase, and a regal looking man wearing an elegant cloak descended into the damp, shadowed room. The cloaked man removed his hood and turned to him. “Greetings Butcher! I’m elated you chose to travel through our fair city again. Although, legend tells that you were warned never to come back.”

“Let the girl go, Stregobor.” He ground, jaw clenched.

“I would love to, but unfortunately I cannot. Surely you haven’t forgotten your last visit, when I explained the dangers of mixed blood, mutant, abominations. She is a danger to herself and others.”

“She is a mere child. Keep me if you must, but on her own she is harmless.” He tried to bargain.

“You are here Witcher, simply because she is. Can’t have you crashing down doors to save the damsel.” He replied, as if his logic was clearly black and white.

The sorcerer turned to his man, “Ivan, food for the witcher and water for when the girl wakes. Don’t bother cooking his too long, he likes his prey _bloody_.”

Geralt mentally winced at his blatant reference to the streets of Blaviken so many years ago.

Stregobor turned and ascended the staircase without another word, and his hulking servant left in the opposite direction, presumably to fetch the food and water. The second the door closed and they were alone, he gripped the barred door on his cell and tried to pry it open. He jerked, pulled and pushed to no avail. Fucking thing was probably enchanted anyway.

“Ciri?” He whispered. He’d dropped her too far away for Geralt to reach her through the bars. She was sleeping peacefully at least. He sat back against the wall, and rested his pounding head for a moment.

\-------------------------

“Geralt?” She whimpered.

He jolted awake. She was unharmed, and like him, couldn’t remember how they’d been taken. They both must have slept for hours, the sun was gone from his window, replaced by a cold breeze and a field of stars. He could tell she was scared, but she was doing a damn good job of trying to hide it. _Good little wolf_.

He told her what had happened in Blaviken decades before she was born, the sorcerer’s obsession with the Curse of the Black Sun, and the hard lessons he’d subsequently learned.

“He wants me because of my elder blood.” She paraphrased his explanation, her mind jumping to the same conclusion his had. “What is he going to do with it?”

He shook his head, he wasn’t sure, but he was going to try his damndest to free her before she found out. Their belongings had been tossed in the empty cell across from her, both of his swords, his amour, her sword and dagger, even the knife from his boot. Renfri’s broach mocked him from where it gleamed on the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t plan on finding out. We’ll figure a way out of this, we always do.”

 _Ivan_ , as he was apparently called, must have brought them both water and slipped the goblets through the bars. His was complimented by a trencher loaded with a slab of raw meat, it looked like beef. Ivan was a literal man, _noted_.

Ciri jumped as the silence around them was broken by a thump on the other side of the wooden door. It scraped open, and Stregobor strode in, the candles secured to the ceiling above the isle-way sparking to life. This time he held his staff, the translucent orb that rested in the top glowing softly.

The cell door across from Geralt’s opened magically, and the overgrown servant hauled in a wriggling, fighting body. Wrapped in what looked like a grain sack, the slight frame struggled against Ivan’s hold until he dumped it to the floor with a resounding thud. The struggling stopped abruptly, he’d either cracked his head on the hard packed floor or the wind was knocked from the person.

“Now Ivan,” Stregobor chided, “That’s no way to treat a lady. Check her.”

He grunted and bent his colossal frame to pull off the cloth hood. Ebony curls spilled onto the dirt floor. Violet eyes flashed murder as she grumbled and swore around a black cloth gag.

He did his best to school his features into a calm and uninterested glare. _Fuck_. _Fuck. Fuck_. What the hell was she doing in Redania.

“Sorry about the company witcher, looks like it’s standing room only at the Inn tonight. I couldn’t resist, another _mutant_ , ripe for the plucking. A mage with elven blood, inquiring around the village about a _white haired witcher_. Twas the elven mages who _created_ the the Elder blood in the cell right over there! Ridding the world of that beast Renfri and the like was nothing, _this_ will be my legacy.”

At the word witcher, she froze. From her position on the floor, she craned her neck to look in the direction he was speaking. Her eyelids fluttered closed when she saw him, captive behind the same bars as she.

“Take off the sack Ivan, I’ll be ready to begin with this one momentarily.” He turned to Geralt, who stood, white knuckled grip on the bars between them.

“Your little girl’s in luck, it’ll be a little while now before she has to fess up those Elder Blood secrets.” He retreated up the stairs again, and Ivan dragged the grain bag off of Yennefer’s body. Her hands were bound behind her back and lopped in through bindings that pulled her feet tight. She must have put up a hell of a fight.

The big man left to add her pack and daggers to their pile of belongings. Geralt longed to kneel and talk to her, find out what she was doing there, but she wouldn’t be able to speak back to him anyway. He entered her cell again, and untied her boot clad feet.

“Come.” The man growled, tugging on her arm. She didn’t move a muscle. “ _Come_.” He boomed, and jerked her up by the arm. He pulled her to a walking position, and pushed her down the walkway.

Their eyes met for the most brief moment, and he saw a rare emotion in hers – fear.

\-------------------------

He and Ciri sat in the corners of their cells, the bars were wide enough he could fit his arm through to wrap around her shoulder at least.

“She’s beautiful.” Ciri offered. He hadn’t seen Yennefer since she stormed away and out of his life after the dragon hunt. When Ciri had questioned who she was, his heart had leapt into his throat. But _fucking destiny_ hadn’t put her back into his life until that very night. Gods, that damned djinn better not be the reason she was here in the first place.

“She is.” He agreed. “She’s also brilliant, cunning, and powerful, but so is Stregobor.”

Her scream echoed from the floor above them. He pulled Ciri tighter to his shoulder and ground his teeth together in frustration. Whatever he was doing to Yennefer, would be Ciri’s fate as well if he couldn’t come up with a suitable exit strategy for the three of them.

Ivan brought her back in the middle of the night. Ciri was asleep, and Geralt eased his arm from her shoulder and stood, trying to get a look at Yennefer. He’d carried her in, big arm looped around her chest, her head lolled to the side. He laid her down surprisingly gently, and after putting a goblet of water in her cell, he left through the wooden door. There was some dried blood high on her chest, but she was untied and they didn’t return the gag to cover her mouth.

“Yen” He whispered. “ _Yen_ ” a bit louder. Nothing. He dipped his fingertips in his water, extended his arm as far as he could through the bars and flicked little beads of the water on her face. He felt like an ass, but he had to know what the hell she was doing there and what they’d done to her.

She roused with a moan and propped herself onto her elbow.

“Geralt?” She rasped. “What are you doing here?”

“They knocked me out and took us both. They want her for the Elder Blood. And you?” He whispered back.

“I, I had a dream. You were in danger, imprisoned against your will. I came looking for you to warn you, but I can see I was too late.”

“You shouldn’t have come.” He shook his head.

“Well, _no_ _shit_ Geralt. I know that now.” The volume of her voice raised slightly in irritation, but she remembered her surroundings. “A village girl, Marilka, took my coin to lead me to you when that maniac and the ogre grabbed me and forced a potion down my throat.” She flexed her fingers as if she was going to cast a spell. “I’ve got nothing.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, _fuck_ is quite eloquent for this mess.” She reached for the water and drank, soothing her raw throat.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing, I’ll be fine.”

“Tell me. He’s going to do the same thing to the girl.” He prodded.

She peered across the dim room to get a glimpse of Ciri’s slumbering form.

“Your child surprise is beautiful, Geralt.”

“She said the exact same thing of you.” There was warmth in his gaze.

She took a shuddering breath. “He’s psychotic. He’s going to run a bunch of tests and experiments on the effects of the Elfish blood, and then presumably dispose of my body in a shallow grave.” She paused. “Don’t look at me with that horrified face Geralt, we’ll get her out. We just have to exploit his weaknesses once we figure out where they lay.”

“What tests?” He graveled.

“Bloodletting and broken bones so far.”

“Which bones?” He implored, scowl on his face.

“Just a few in here.” She gestured to her left arm, which he then noticed she was holding bent and close to her torso.

“ _Fuck_ , just a _few_.” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“I missed you, wolf.” She whispered under her breath, as if she hoped he wouldn’t hear it.

“Hmmmmmm. You could have visited. The girl could use a _motherly_ influence.”

“I stomped away from you rather regally Geralt.” She smiled softly. “What’s loneliness and regret when you’re _right_.”

She reached her good arm through the bars toward him, her dainty hand matted with her dried blood. He reached for her, his strong hand covered in a layer of dirt from the floor of his cell. Their fingertips touched, and he leaned farther until he felt her knuckles.

“Yen, I –“

“Well, well! Look at my excellent fortune!” The sorcerer sneered from the base of the staircase.

They both yanked their arms back, but the damage had been done. He knew.

“Witcher, you must be a magnet for these possessed, mutant women. They’re beautiful, I see the allure, but stop thinking with your cock like a teenage boy. She’s dangerous, an _abomination_.”

Ciri woke at Stregobor’s loud outburst, but wisely stayed to the back of her cell.

“Can I expect I’ll have your full cooperation with the testing now, witch?” He queried in a condescending tone.

“You can expect me to slice your throat in your sleep you _fucking pig_.” She spat.

“Fair enough. Ivan, take his hand.”

The big man seemed to materialize out of nowhere and nodded. He ducked behind the door, and returned with a short handled axe.

Her eyes went wide. Geralt backed up and braced himself.

“No.” She breathed.

Ivan turned the lock on Geralt’s cell and stepped inside.

“Stop.” She turned to Stregobor.

Ivan took a swing at Geralt, he evaded the swipe but was backed into a corner.

“No, please!” Ciri screamed.

“Stop! Stop, I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Yennefer pleaded.

“That’s enough for now Ivan.” He finally instructed. “Keep the weapon close, we’ll take a few fingers if she changes her mind.”

Geralt’s door was closed and hers unlocked.

“It’s late, but I’m properly motivated.” He gestured for her to climb the stairs ahead of him.

She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and marched ahead of him as regally as any queen.

Geralt tried to reason with him, even as the sorcerer and Yennefer climbed the staircase. “Stregobor, let’s compromise!” he called. “I’ll hunt, I can track, I’ll find you whatever you want!”

——————-

She screamed for what seemed like hours, and an eerie silence followed.

“Is she…?” Ciri’s voice sounded terribly loud as he strained his already enhanced hearing trying to pick up her voice, or a sign that she was still alive.

He turned to answer her, and at the look on his face, she cut him off. “Ignore me. Of course she’s fine. She burned down half of Sodden, she’s not going to let him get the best of her.”

His lips quirked in a half smile, she could tell how hard he was going to take it if Yennefer didn’t make it out of his ordeal, and she was lying to make him feel better.

He didn’t have the heart to remind her that without Yennefer’s handle on chaos, she would be defenseless against the sorcerer.

———----

The sun rose, and was high in the sky before anyone came or went from the dungeon.

Ivan unlocked Ciri’s cell, and grunted, “Come.”

“No, please, she’s just a girl.” Geralt begged. Gods, she was dead. Yennefer had marched to her death and he was ready for the next woman to kill.

“Geralt, I have to go, or he’ll come down here and get me anyway. I can do it.” She rose gracefully and followed the big man.

Geralt walked the length of his cell as she walked by and up the stairs.

“ _FUCK_ ” He bellowed to no one. He climbed the bars and inspected each solder, yanking and pulling to see if he could get anything loose. He kicked, scraped, and slammedat the metal framework until he slid down the wall, chest heaving and fists clenched.

———

Ivan returned Ciri to him just after sunset. He rushed to the bars separating them as soon as the door on her cell shut.

“I’m fine, he didn’t touch me. And she’s alive.”

All the air in his chest left at once.

“All he did was question me. Was I different than other girls my age? Had I ever suffered from drastic mood changes? Did my body react poorly to sun, moonlight, silver? Just question after question.”

He gave her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.

“Yennefer?”

“He’s…he’s testing her pain limits. He’s convinced if he pushes her far enough, her eyes will roll back and she’ll turn into some possessed demon.”

He wanted to know, but he wasn’t sure he could take knowing and not being able to help her.

“Tell me about every door, every window and hallway you passed.”

———

Another night turned into morning, then afternoon, when Ciri was again led above stairs. Ivan fed and watered them like horses, cleaned buckets and Ciri was even given a blanket. Every moment he spent locked up like an animal, watching Ciri come and go at that sociopath’s beck and call was taking it’s toll on Geralt.

This time when Ciri returned, so did an unconscious Yennefer. Ivan carried her over his shoulder, face down. Instead of putting her in the cell across from his, he unlocked Geralt’s cell, and bent low.

Her back was shredded to ribbons.

He took her carefully off Ivan’s back and lowered her gently to the dirt floor. What was left of the top of her dress practically fell away from the disaster on her once flawless skin.

Ivan returned with a water basin, cloth, rolled bandages and a jar of salve. He dumped the pile in front of Geralt, and petted the back of her head softly. “Fix.” He locked the door again. That was the second time the brute had been gentle with her.

He didn’t know where to start, cleaning and bandaging such a big area was going to be incredibly painful for her.

“Geralt?” Ciri broke through. “How can I help?”

He instructed her on how to tear the bandages for flexibility and wound coverage, washed his hands in the basin and went to work diligently plucking pieces of her dress from the already healing wounds.

They finished wrapping her torso, and then her shoulder blades without her coming to. He sent another thank you skyward for small mercies.

Moonlight streamed through the narrow windows as he propped his head off the floor with an arm. He laid on his back, Yennefer on her stomach on top, her broken arm also wrapped and carefully positioned next to her. He figured his body was warmer and softer than the floor at least. Ciri slept just on the other side of the bars, her hand held out and resting against his.

Just when he thought his eyes might finally close, she stirred against his chest.

“You’re okay.” He whispered.

She heard and nodded almost imperceptibly against him.

“What kind of potion did he give you? Is the loss of your abilities temporary?” Gods he hoped so.

“Permanent, but a simple antidote. Only five ingredients.”

She made no effort to move, he assumed the pain overrode everything else in her mind.

“How much magic does she know?” She whispered.

“We just started with the basics. She has incredible power but doesn’t yet know how to contain it.”

“I had hoped we wouldn’t get to this point, but whether or not the three of us live or die is going to come down to her figuring it out."

Ciri got her first official instruction on wielding chaos that night from a seasoned mage who couldn’t get up off the floor.

———

They made it three more days worth of lessons before Ciri came back down with two broken fingers.

She wore a brave face, but Geralt had cussed and bitched bloody murder while he wrapped them with material from her cloak. The bandages for Yennefer’s back were long used up, and the top half of her dress annihilated, so she wore his shirt. It was baggy enough on her that it didn’t pull on the healing skin.

“It has to be tomorrow.” Yennefer warned.

“He’s only going to escalate with you now Ciri, he didn’t find what he was looking for with me and now he’s graduated to hurting you. When Ivan comes to get you, we talk him into taking us both. When we get upstairs, I’ll knock over that damned staff and break the sphere. That should limit his power some. Ciri, you’ll come in with your Aard, then you need to run down here and get Geralt.”

Geralt interrupted, “And what is happening to you while she does so?”

“Not important.”

He grunted.

“Keys, remember are there (pointing to the far wall), Geralt’s swords there (the fourth cell), and we’re fairly certain based on the smell, that the stables and back entrance to the mansion are through the wooden door Ivan uses.”

“You remind me of my grandmother.” Ciri looked at her with a hint of awe.

“I’ll take that as a compliment and hope it is one.” She smiled.

“Geralt, once she unlocks the cell and gets the weaponry you’ll need to dispatch Ivan - is that an issue?”

“Of course not, but again, that’s even more time you’re up there alone with him.” He persisted.

“I’ll handle it.” He clenched his jaw.

“Ciri, sweetheart. Once you’ve cast your Aard, and you’re back down here, do _not_ go back upstairs. If something happens to me, or Geralt, you get out that door toward the stables and you keep going. Do not turn back. Promise me?”

She hesitated hoping Geralt would amend Yennefer’s dictate, but he stood fast. “I promise.”

\-------------------------

Shortly before dawn, he laid on his back, Yennefer against his side, her broken arm resting on his chest and her head tucked under his shoulder.Her back was healing but the progress was slow, and he worried about infection. Medical treatment in a dirt floored dungeon didn’t exactly scream sterile.

He cleared his throat softly. “I’m sorry for what I said on that mountain. It was completely out of line, and bullshit.”

“Don’t do that, we will all make it out tomorrow.” She insisted.

“It’s not that. I was wrong. I’ve regretted my words every day since.” He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, once wet with tears at Borch’s prediction.

“I was being selfish, you were right.” She admitted, fingertips dancing over the warm muscle beneath her hand.

“You have one, you know.” He paused. “A daughter. If you choose to.”

She propped herself up on her good arm to face him fully. “Geralt-“ She whispered, searching his face.

His hard features softened, “She’s known you for a week, no magic, and she already looks at you like you hung the stars.”

“She’s just scared –“ she started, but he interrupted her.

“Stay with us, or we’ll stay with you. I can’t go years without you again.” His thumb had moved to trace her bottom lip. It was unlike him to stay much at all, and not only had he admitted he was wrong, but that he needed her.

He leaned his forehead against hers, noses nudging one another, sharing the same breath. When she didn’t pull away, he pressed his lips to hers firmly, and she responded in kind. She chased him when he broke the kiss, the second touch laden with passion. Her mouth opened for his tongue and she moaned, the taste of him flashing memories of their bodies pressed together behind her eyelids.

He pulled back only to press kisses to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and the shell of her ear. “Rest.” He urged.

She settled back against him and let her eyes flutter closed.

\-------------------------

Ivan walked the two women into Stregobor’s lab and pulled the door shut as he left. It was more like a torture chamber. A long, windowless room centered around a large wooden table that was shaped like a cross. The table edges were lined with leather straps, and a section of the stone wall was marred by silver manacles. A long counter full of various instruments lay under a row of large chandeliers, and his massive desk sat near the far wall.

He ushered them both to sit on the long end of the table, and tied the leather around their hands behind their backs. The lure of studying them side by side, Elven and Elder blood, overrode his sense of caution and he neglected to tightly secure Yennefer’s bindings. As he bent opposite them at the instrument counter with a look of sadistic glee, she pulled her hands through the straps and loosened Ciri’s hands before hiding them behind her back again.

When he chose the leather whip still caked with blood from Yennefer’s back, she saw red. She leapt off the table and grabbed the staff out of his unprepared hand and bashed it to the floor, the glass sphere on top shattering.

“You bitch!” He roared, and brought the whip down across her legs hard.

She fell to the floor and screamed when she landed on her broken arm, but Ciri had jumped up and leveled her arms toward him.

Stregobor’s face belied his astonishment as he was tossed into the stone wall like a rag-doll.

“Go!” Yennefer yelled as she picked herself up, broken glass biting into her hands and legs. Ciri turned and ran like she had promised.

\-------------------------

Geralt waited impatiently, hands gripping the door of his cell. Yennefer screamed from above. He pressed his forehead to the cold bars. _How much more could she take? Hurry little wolf_.

Heavy footsteps trudged down the stairs, but instead of his platinum haired charge, it was Ivan. He lumbered over to the pile of their belongings, and pulled Geralt’s steel sword from it’s scabbard. He took the keys from the wall and unlocked Geralt’s cell door.

Before he could process what the big man was about, he handed Geralt the hilt of his sword. “Help.” The man implored and looked up, gesturing to the next floor.

Another scream broke through his confusion. With a grunted _thank you_ he took the sword and charged up the staircase. He nearly crashed into Ciri at the top.

“Oh thank the Gods, this way Geralt!” She ran ahead of him, leading the way to the lab.

He burst through the door to see Yennefer slumped and hiding behind a massive wooden table, Stregobor headed for her with what looked like a piping hot branding iron. The sorcerer was crazed, his tight control of the situation gone, he flailed toward her wildly.

Geralt’s sword clanged as it made hard contact with the long iron and it flew out of his hand, clattering to the floor behind him. Ciri knelt to help Yennefer as Geralt pushed the old man farther into the room and away from them.

“ _You_ ” Stregobor snarled, even as he backtracked. “You and your _animals_ have caused quite enough disruption.” He began summoning magic in his right hand.

Geralt had simply had enough. Enough of watching the coward of a man in front of him hurt the people he loved most.

He lunged forward and buried his sword in the man’s shoulder. Stregobor’s arm went slack and he roared in agony, spell momentarily forgotten. Before he could regroup, Geralt made an _igni_ sign with his fingers and lobbed the fireball toward him point blank. He crashed back against the counter, cloak smoldering and face burned.

When Geralt got closer, he realized the long surface was full of medical devices and items that could only possibly be used to inflict pain. Rage simmering behind his golden irises, he twisted the hilt of his sword before pulling it from his shoulder. Stregobor’s scream was oddly satisfying.

“ _You’re_ the butcher in this town, you sick fuck.” He growled, before grabbing the sorcerer by the shoulders and running him face first along the entire expanse of instruments.

Stregobor slumped to the floor, before pivoting unexpectedly and thrusting a large scalpel into Geralt’s chest, just below his pectoral muscle. He groaned in pain and staggered back, before clenching his jaw and pulling it out, bright red blood trailing down his bare chest.

The wizard yet again advanced toward Geralt, blind rage across his burned face, and magic forming from his left hand this time. The powerful blast threw Geralt against the stone wall, the back of his head making solid contact, and his limp frame landed in a heap at the base of the wall.

In the same moment the chaos left his outstretched arm, Yennefer brought Geralt’s sword down heavily between his neck and shoulder. She’d crept up behind him and used only her good arm, but the weight of the sword tore through flesh and bone just the same. He collapsed in a silent scream, and she pulled the sword from the center of his back with a satisfying slide, Renfri's broach gleaming in the chandelier light.

Ciri was already trying to rouse Geralt without success. Yennefer knelt next to her and felt through his thick hair for the blood she feared she would find. He was breathing even more slowly than was normal for him, and she knew head wounds were not to be trifled with. It was hard to distinguish between the blood on her hands from the glass and the blood from his scalp, but it was there.

“Ciri honey, see that shelf over there with the jars of leaves and ingredients? Can you please find me these five?” She rattled off a list of herbs and minerals.

She ran to do as the experienced mage asked, and Yennefer bent over him again trying to rouse him. She awkwardly tore a strip from the lining of the bottom half of her dress with one hand, and pressed it against the steady blood flow from the puncture would on his chest.

Under Yennefer’s direction Ciri ground and mixed the potion, and Yennefer swallowed it down, hoping it would take effect immediately. She held her hand to his skin and tried to summon a healing spell. It was weak at first, but her chaos was restored. She healed his head wound before she felt weak and out of breath.

His eyelids drifted open and he groaned. “Can we get the _fuck_ out of here now?”

———

They rode at a steady clip, away from Blaviken and away from the horrors Stregobor’s mansion held. Both Yennefer’s horse, and Roach were saddled with their belongings and ready to ride when they’d clamored down the stairs.

“I still don’t understand how our horses were saddled and tied ready for travel.” Yennefer puzzled.

“Ivan. He had eyes for you, Yen.” Geralt supplied.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” She questioned from her horse.

“He would pat your head, and he gave us the supplies for your back. I don’t think _he_ knew about that.”

“And he let Geralt out and told him to come help us.” Ciri added. “He was sweet on you, in his own weird, one-word, giant way.” She smiled.

Yennefer tsked and shook her head.

They made camp by the Buine river when they felt far enough away to relax. Yennefer was able to heal Ciri’s hand by then, and the puncture wound on Geralt’s torso was healing nicely with his own enhanced healing. Her wounds were next, once she felt up to it. They were relieved to wash off the layers of dungeon dirt and grime, and to have their packs and spare clothes back.

Yennefer tossed what was left of her dress in a heap, donned a new one and returned Geralt’s shirt to him.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile when she returned the folded bundle.

“You’re already stealing my clothes, does this mean you’re considering staying with us?” He asked, trying to sound uninterested in her answer.

“Ciri _is_ in dire need of a maternal presence in her life, and magical tutelage. Left alone with you, I expect her to be forgoing bathing and howling at the moon in no time, wolf.” She snarked.

“So, for Ciri’s sake only then?” His eyebrow raised as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“Correct, I’m certainly _not_ staying for _you,_ feral oaf.”

He pressed his wry smile to her lips and she wound her hands into his nape and kissed him back with equal fervor.

——————-

Twenty miles west, in a pitch dark, windowless room, a pair of bloodshot eyes snapped open.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Stregobor is a super creep - live autopsies. Lort. DarkGlowingLight - “little wolf” was for you <3


End file.
